Breaking Point
by tibys
Summary: Belle was suffocating, her life, her job, her fiancée. She only felt like herself when she was with her quiet, and private, landlord. AU curse-less Storybrooke. Oneshot for now.


**A/N An idea that popped into my head whilst listening to Adele. Inspired by the song Turning Tables and One and Only by Adele. I dont own any Adele songs or Once, but it sure would be better for Rumbelle shippers if I did. Enjoy !**

Belle was suffocating, her life, her job, her fiancée.

She was reaching her breaking point, the point of no return. If she went home now, she felt as if she was going to start a war, but staying at work, under the judging eyes of those diner patrons around her was even worse. She just wanted to fall to the floor, lose her self-identity, her raging emotions, and just float away into the sweet oblivion of her unconscious.

She was so tired of fighting. Her father always told her how brave she was, standing beside Gaston, despite his few misdemeanours, his deployment to a far off war, and when he took his traumatic experiences out on her. He was a wounded soldier, who loved her, who always apologized profusely for every strike. A man who fought for his country and would fight to keep her, how could she abandon someone like that, her father would ask desperately.

For those few short years in his absence, with only the occasional letter correspondence, the cold ring on her finger, and the yellow ribbon she wore as a necklace, she could believe that she was living the life of her dreams. The small town librarian, heroically waiting for her valiant husband, her high school sweetheart, and loyally awaited his return, so they could be wed. It should've been her happily ever after, but instead it left her feeling hollow.

It started when she met him, her landlord, the first month on her own, after Gaston's deployment. Gaston, as the man of the household, had always dealt with things like the finances and that included the rent. She had naively found that particular trait endearing, a sign that he cared for her enough that she did not have to worry about silly things like dealing with banks or rent. He always insisted that she should only concern herself with keeping the household in order and food hot on the table. He would take care of her, and she, in turn, was expected to take care of him.

Her landlord, a quiet man, used to his privacy, and relied on his fearsome reputation to keep it that way, had intrigued her immediately. She knew his reputation, though only through hushed whispers and exchanged looks of distaste on her fellow townsmen. He seemed at first surprised to see her at the door, but quickly drew his usual calm façade. He was a man playing a part; it was a look that she recognized in her own reflection.

Every month, she would try to start a conversation with this strange man, she would make various baked goods on rent day in an effort to entice him inside to sample some, or perhaps share a cup of tea. And every month, he would politely smile and decline. At first his refusal had been instant and cold, but much to Belle's joy his refusals became softer as time went on, warm words exchanged by friends. His eyes began to sparkle behind his stony façade as he regarded her every month, curious and amused at every new attempt to entice him. Their strange ritual, though normal to all who might have chanced a glance, became treasured for them both.

It was on the eighth month of this ritual, when she changed it. She had spent the previous few days perfecting shortbread cookies, and the batch she had just taken out of the oven for Mr. Gold were perfect in her very humble opinion.

This month, Belle was being brave, and perhaps a bit sneaky. She appeared flustered at his arrival, apparently this months rent payment had slipped her mind. She opened the door a little wider, inviting him in to wait in her house, out of the atrocious weather that was common to Maine in the winter, as she went to fetch her wallet. His eyes narrowed a little, as he hesitantly stepped into her foyer, adjusting his grip on his cane occasionally. Belle almost felt bad for him, he looked very uncomfortable, marooned in her living room. He didn't know what to do with himself, but he settled on looking around his surroundings with some semblance of curiosity. Then his eye fell on it, the tray of shortbreads, cooling just within his reach, its tantalizing scent swirling around his form. Belle bit her lip, as she hid in the next room, waiting with bated breath to see what he would do next. He glanced around the room quickly, before carefully removing his leather glove and quickly grabbing one of the cookies.

Making a lot of noise as she stumbled into the room, she laughed as she caught his guilty look, half of the cookie already in his mouth. He looked mortified. Quickly swallowing he apologized profusely for the cookie theft, but she waved him off happily and boxed up a few of the cookies for him to take. As she escorted him out, she handed him the box, 'accidently' brushing her fingers again his still un-gloved hand. His face flushed at the slight touch, and he carefully leaned in and whispered "shortbread cookies have been my favourite since I was a wee lad." He bid a quick retreat after sharing something so unexpectedly personal, nodding his thanks and throwing a small smile her way

He came back to her house three days later, with the empty box of cookies in his hand. "I washed it for you" he said shyly, looking at her through his hair. Delighted, Belle opened the door wider and invited him in for tea, and perhaps more cookies. Much to the pleasant surprise of both parties, he accepted. Belle was over the moon; she sat him down at her kitchen table, and placed a full plate of shortbread in front of him. She joined him moments later with a filled tea tray laden with milk, sugar, honey, lemons, and two blue and white cups. She carefully poured him a glass and handed it to him, her fingers brushing his again. His hand jerked at the unexpected contact, and the cup tumbled to the floor. His face flushed bright red in embarrassment; as they both reached down to retrieve the fallen cup.

"It's chipped" he remarked in horror. Belle smiled at him kindly, "it's just a cup" she examined the chip, a rather large gash, as she poured more tea into it, "besides, you can hardly see it."

To prove her point, Belle began to always use the chipped teacup.

It became a routine for them, every month Gold would come by and collect her rent and hand a cup of tea. Occasionally, and much to Belle's absolute amusement, he would take a shine to one of her baked goods, and take a box home with him. Belle loved when that happened, because it meant he would be back soon, for another cup and to return the box. She carefully took note of his favourites, and would stop in his shop, on whim, with another box.

For the first time in her life, she felt as if she had someone who she could truly be herself with. The longer she spent with him, the fonder she became of his presence, and the greater the sense of emptiness when he was not around. She loved speaking with him, it was almost as if he hung onto every word, his attention focused solely on her. She began to think about him all the time, his face, his hands, his eyes, everything. She knew it was wrong, after all she was still engaged to Gaston, she was supposed to be loyal to him and him only as he fought for the free world abroad. But he hadn't written to her in months, she didn't know where he was, what he was doing, and his GI pay checks were no longer being sent to her. And Belle was afraid. Afraid of her growing feelings for Mr. Gold, of her fiancée, and for the perfect little bubble she had lived in. She was supposed to marry her high school sweetheart, be happy, have lots of children, and stay at home taking care of them all. But Belle no longer believed that is what she truly wanted; life was a breath of fresh air since Gaston was deployed. Suddenly she was in charge of her own life, her own destiny, and she didn't think she could ever go back to being the woman Gaston insisted she be. Belle had changed, and that realization frightened her to the very core.

Belle had strong feelings for her landlord, but she couldn't help but feel shabby in his presence. He was always so well put together, his suits crisp, he was cultured, and so very sophisticated. Belle on the other hand was a foolish, clumsy, bookish girl who had never ventured so far as Boston. She read about the world, about adventures, but she herself had never experienced anything more exciting than discovering shortbread was Mr. Golds favourite cookie. Who was she kidding really? Belle wasn't even close to being good enough for Gold, and what sort of person could love someone who could be so disloyal to her responsibilities as a wife to be?

Despite her fears, Belle was a selfish person, and she didn't let her feelings get her down, instead she opted to enjoy all the time she had with Gold. Life was going well, things felt right, and Belle was happy.

Naturally, Gaston couldn't let her be happy for long. He was injured in the field, and was honourably discharged from the military, and was coming home. He would be there in less than a week, and he expected his fiancée to have a meal and a warm bed ready for him.

When Gold came by for his monthly tea, he found Belle in a tizzy. Her normally immaculate house was in a state of disarray, and she was in the middle of her living room crying. Gold froze, unsure of what to do, every instinct told him to run away from a hysterical woman, but some part of him, which was beginning to hold powerful feelings for this particular hysterical woman, caused him to hesitate.

Belle was his friend, his only friend, and she needed him. Carefully, mindful of his knee, he wordlessly sat beside her and held her. She clung to him like a lifeline, sobbing into his shirt, her face buried in his neck. When she had quieted down enough, she was finally able to tell him why she had been crying. Her fiancée was coming back. She was to be married. Belle spilled her heart to a stoic Mr. Gold, never able to bring herself to look him in the face. She told him how much she had changed, how she had never been happy with Gaston, how afraid she was of his arrival, and how she had developed feelings in his absence for another man, how she might now be in love with someone else.

She couldn't bring herself to tell Gold that it was him she was in love with, and in her distress she didn't notice the tension rolling off his body in waves. He quietly calmed her, and distanced himself from her the moment the opportunity presented itself. He closed himself off, and after assuring that she was all right, helped her set the house to rights and left, without taking tea.

He was hurt, his hope had shattered when she told him she was in love with someone else. He felt foolish, for someone as lovely, beautiful, and young as her could never care for him. He was jealous of this mysterious man, he envied the love that Belle professed for the man, because nobody could ever love him. He distanced himself from the girl, though was always available when she sought him out, he was still her friend after all. But no longer did he take tea with her; they no longer shared private smiles and laughs, because it was just too painful for Gold to bare.

Belle's visited less when Gaston arrived, he no longer collected rent from her, and was surprised to hear that she had gotten a job at Granny's Diner, surprised that her fiancée would let her out of the house. He quickly learned her shifts, and learned to avoid the diner at the times she was working. She stopped seeking him out completely, and it was months before he caught more than a fleeting glance at her.

Belle couldn't take it anymore; Gaston's mood swings were getting worse and more violent. She didn't know why she kept fighting with him, why she kept staying with him. And yet, despite his behaviour, he always turned the tables on her, and blamed her for their relationship problems. She had grown too bold in his absence, and how dare she get a job. If she remained under his oppressive thumb, she was going to break. She wasn't strong enough to remain with him, she couldn't breathe in the relationship, and she didn't want to fight for him. She didn't love Gaston. She needed to say goodbye to him, the very thought caused her chest to seize in fear, in worry. Leaving him was akin to braving a thousand storms, and Belle just couldn't handle it. With fear clutching at her desperately, she embraced the darkness edging along the edge of her consciousness and her vision, she conceded to gravity and allowed the floor to swallow her up.

To say he was surprised to see her at the diner, well after her shift should've ended, would be an understatement. Seeing her brought back all sorts of confusing feelings that he'd rather not deal with, and was about to turn to leave when he looked at her. Really looked at her. She was pale, shaking, and looked as if she had lost weight. She had deep bags under her eyes, and looked so _weary_. But it was her eyes that really shocked him to the core, gone was his Belle's strong, mischievous, sparkle, and it was replaced with a dull sheen, presumably born out of exhaustion and stress. His Belle looked broken, and ready to collapse.

In fact, she did collapse. It happened in slow motion, and if asked Gold couldn't say in great detail exactly what happened. Nearby patrons and witnesses later said that he dropped his cane, and with surprising agility and grace, lunged forward to catch her fall. He just managed to get underneath her, when he himself collapsed from the sudden weight on his bad leg, falling into a nearby chair. All Gold could process was that Belle was on his lap, in his arms, and the world had never felt so right.

Her fellow waitress rushed to Belles aid, and Granny Lucas shushed the patron with a well-placed glare and warning. The red haired woman, Ruby he supposed, pushed a wet cloth against her forehead, and Granny brought over a glass of water. Both of the women gave Gold a threatening look, and probably would've told him to bugger off if Belle hadn't of thrown her arms around his neck. He crooned in what he hoped was calming way in her ears, he whispered that everything was going to be all right, and that she was safe. He cursed his damn leg when he had to have assistance moving Belle to the less public waiting room of the Inn, and he berated himself for his cowardice, for staying away from his friend when she needed him the most. He had run out of things to say to her in English and had since moved to whispering calming words in gaelic when her shaking and sobs died out.

She still had her arms flung around his neck and was curled up in his lap on a small couch in the empty sitting room. The Lucas women had reluctantly left Belle in his care with threats aimed at him, to take care of the diner. Belle looked at him, really looked at him, and he couldn't help but to stare into her startling blue eyes, his favourite colour of blue, ringed in red. He felt awful, for not being there, for not seeing her pain, for not helping. As he berated himself for his selfishness and stupidity, he was completely taken by surprise when Belle pushed her lips against his in a desperate chaste kiss. His whole body stilled and yet before he could respond she pulled away, horror filling her eyes, as she apologized profusely for her directness, for her kiss.

His brain was numb. Belle had kissed him. And with growing terror he realized she was now trying to disentangle herself from him, to leave. He tightened his grip around her middle and pulled her back for another kiss, pleasantly delighted at her moan of approval as he tried to deepen it. When they pulled away he glanced at her with awe and wonderment filling his eyes. He had hope.

"Belle, what about the man that you said you loved?" he couldn't believe that she could really want him. She was obviously upset, and acting rashly.

She blushed, "it was you Mr. Gold. I know it sounds silly, I mean I don't even know your first name, and you were never really in my league, but its always been you" she tried once again to move away in embarrassment but he pulled her closer for another kiss. "Nicholas" he muttered to her in between kisses. She marveled up at this man, the quiet, shy, private landlord she had managed to fall in love with. Belle had hope.

"And I love you Belle French"

The two kissed and discovered the depths of their feeling, huddled in the waiting room of Granny's Inn, oblivious to the red faced Lucas women who popped by to check on Belle. For the first time in months, Belle could breathe.

Fin.

**A/n thanks for reading, reviews are loved!**


End file.
